


Vote 4 Pedro

by Zephyreon



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Gen, I'm autistic so that means all my favorite characters are too, Minor Self Harm, Period Typical Attitudes, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Specifically: Ableism, Stimming, meltdowns, non-linear chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyreon/pseuds/Zephyreon
Summary: A look at an autistic Joe co-starring Pedro the pillow pet
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Pedro the Pillow Pet
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by that one tumblr post about Joe and the frog pillow pet. If you troll TOG tumblr you know the one.

If Booker had known just how much of an institution the green monstrosity was going to become, how deeply it would weave itself into their lives, he never would have picked it up and brought it home that day.

* * *

The first time Nile hears of the Fabled Pedro is in the plane after their sparring match and the whole pilot debacle, and she asks Andy about the rest of her army. She tells her of Booker, the previous newbie, and Nicky and Joe, the dynamic duo.

“Well actually it’s more like a trio,” she laughed, “can’t forget about Pedro.” Andy doesn’t elaborate after that and Nile doesn’t think to ask her as the plane begins its descent into some airstrip in Bumfuck, Eastern Europe. It takes them almost a week to make it to Paris, and the whole time Andy is regaling her with tales of Joe and Pedro’s antics. Even though trains would be much faster, Andy is insistent on sticking to cars when possible and by foot when not. Without her phone there isn’t anything to do but talk to pass the time, and Andy is more eager to talk about Joe and Pedro than anything else.

She talks about the time in Oslo when they had to abandon their safe house to avoid getting snowed in at a cabin with only a woodstove for heat and not enough wood to last them until better weather.

“It was absolutely shitting snow and we’d been driving for an hour when we all realized that we’d left Pedro behind in our haste to get out. With as upset as Joe was with the rest of us for leaving him, it was nothing compared to how mad Nicky was with himself for not remembering.” Andy said, “We all learned to pay better attention to Pedro after that.”

Andy talks abut Pedro as if he were a living breathing person, and after the fact, Nile thinks she can be forgiven for expecting a group of four when they finally reach the church, and that her surprise at only finding three is justified. Nile thinks to herself that perhaps Pedro is just out and will be back, and promptly forgets all about him as the ones that are there are introduced. There’s Booker, real name Sebastian, who is quiet and sad in a way that reminds Nile of her mother after she’d recovered from the raw, open wound of her father’s death and gotten her feet under her but before she’d figured out how to be happy without him. There’s Nicky, real name Nicolò, who is bright and eager to make her acquaintance, but at the same time mindful of all she’s been through and offsets his eagerness by offering her food or a place to rest, making sure she is content and comfortable.

Then there’s Joe, real name Yusuf. When Nile and Andy first step into the small living quarters attached to the back of the church two sets of eyes turn their way, Nicky from the kitchen where he stood chopping vegetables and Booker from an armchair in front of a conspicuously modern flat-screen with a chunky, reinforced laptop open in his lap. But Joe, who occupied the chair next to Booker, didn’t move from where he sat hunched over the book in his lap, rocking back and forth with his hands tucked under his chin as he absentmindedly twisted a ring on his left index finger. Even after Booker and Nicky had gotten up to meet them Joe still hadn’t moved, or even just lifted his head to show he’d processed their arrival, and Andy made no moves to try and call his attention.

It wasn’t until Nicky swung by him on his way to deposit their bags in the sleeping area that Nile suddenly understood. She watches as he crouches down in front of the chair, right in where Joe’s eyeline would be if he looked away from his book, but doesn’t try to touch him or force him to look at him.

“Yusuf, _hayati,_ Andy is back with Nile.” Nicky says softly, the words seemingly having no impact, “Don’t leave them hanging for too long, okay?” He waits for a few moments longer and must get some kind of assent because he stands and turns towards where Nile is still standing with a perplexed expression on her face. “Give him a few minutes to find a stopping place. Be forewarned, though; he’s a hugger.”

Nicky turns away, but Nile doesn’t really acknowledge it, the words ‘find a stopping place’ abruptly recalling memories of her eleven year old cousin at a family function for the first time after her doctors had put her on the spectrum. She’d been reading when they got there, a dense astronomy book that made Nile’s head spin, and when the family descended on them she hadn’t looked up when they tried to engage her, pulling away when they got too close. That had prompted several older relatives to pipe in with disciplinary suggestions but her mother was quick to shut them down. “She’s not being rude, she’s being autistic. She’ll put it away when she finds a stopping place, and until then you’ll leave her alone.”

Nicky came back out into the main room and returned to his vegetables in the kitchen, the rest of the team settling into a quiet routine and leaving Nile to her own devices. It wasn’t until she’d wandered to the umbrella stand by the door full of swords that she heard the snap of a book being shut and looks up to see Joe pulling Andy into a bear hug that lifts her off her feet for a good two or three seconds.

“It’s good to have you back, boss.” he says, like they weren’t just together a couple of weeks ago.

“It’s good to be back,” Andy says once he’s turned her loose, and motions Nile over to her. “This is Nile Freeman, Joe.” Joe turns to her, but now that he’s facing her, it’s easy to see how he won’t meet Nile’s gaze, and is instead looking somewhere just to the left of her face.

“Yusuf, but you can call me Joe if you want,” he says and moves like he’s going to hug her too, but suddenly seems to doubt himself and pulls back. Nile thinks to herself ‘What the hell?’ and goes in the rest of the way and Jesus Christ, Nicky was not lying about Joe being a hugger. He doesn’t stick around once he lets Nile go, going into the kitchen see what Nicky is doing and eagerly asking questions about everything he has cooking.

So, yes, Nile forgets all about Pedro. Until, that is, Nicky calls everyone for dinner and only sets out enough place settings for those present and Nile realizes there isn’t a plate for Pedro. She keeps her questions to herself as everyone sits down, but sees an opportunity after she asks Andy how old she is and the conversation lulls when she gives a non-answer.

“So where’s Pedro? When do I get to meet him?” Everyone at the table around her falls silent, and she can tell that the glances being thrown around are also carrying a conversation, but she chooses not to say anything else and just watches the show.

“Andy told you about Pedro?” Joe eventually asks, his question quirking up at the end like he hadn’t expected her to do that.

“Yeah, she told me all about all the trouble you two got into. Like the time in Oslo when he got left at the safehouse and no one realized until after you’d been driving for an hour.” Nile says, not sure how to categorize the expression on Joe’s face, “Will he be back soon, or what?”

It’s a long moment before Andy finally responds.

“Oh no, he’s around. Why don’t you go introduce her, Joe?” If Nile had been paying better attention she might have seen the devious little smirk on Andy’s face, the one almost exclusive to older siblings who knew that one of their younger siblings were about to make a complete fool of themselves and relishing the moment. Joe looks startled for a moment as he looks between Andy and then Nicky, before standing and leaving the table. Nile hesitates for a heartbeat but then stands to follow him as he leads her towards where the beds are situated. Joe turns and starts rooting around in his bed covers and Nile watches in confusion, as it’s readily apparent that there isn’t anyone in any of the three beds shoved into the tiny space, but chooses not to say anything in favor of seeing what exactly plays out.

After a moment Joe makes a noise of triumph and surfaces with a frog pillow pet clutched in one hand, opened out into pillow form.

A _frog pillow pet._

“Pedro, _habibi,_ you must make yourself decent. We have company.” Joe chides the plush animal as he fastens the two sides together with little velcro strap on the bottom, seemingly oblivious to Nile’s slack-jawed stare. She composes herself, though, as Joe presents Pedro to her and, unsure of what else to do, runs her hand down Pedro’s head and back a few times until Joe pulls him away. Satisfied that the two of them have been sufficiently introduced, Joe returns to the table with Pedro in hand, leaving Nile no choice but to return with him. By the time she gets back and settles in next to Joe, he’s already returned to his meal, his right hand occupied with his fork while his left pets down Pedro’s back in a motion he’s obviously made a hundred thousand times. While Nicky resolutely avoids her gaze, Booker and Andy are sharing conspiratorial glances that very clearly show that they find it far too hilarious to let go for a long, long time.

“So Nile, have you met Pedro?” Andy asks, and, dammit, Nile can just hear the barely constrained laughter in her voice.

“Yeah, I met him. You could have told me he was a stuffed animal and not, like, a person.” Nile says, and Andy does actually laugh at that.

“He’s become so ingrained in our dynamic, I suppose he does sound like another team member if you don’t know anything about him,” Nicky says, watching Joe with a tender softness the intensity of which almost takes Nile’s breath away.

Nile sees the evidence of that some hours later, after she’s dreamed of Quyhn and the others have been ambushed, as Booker frantically packs what he can while he waits for the signal and spends a good twenty seconds turning the living area upside down in his search for the amphibious animal. He is eventually found on his back in a far corner of the room, just in time for Andy to blow out the wall between the the living quarters and the church proper, and Nile gets the feeling that despite the urgency of the situation that the both of them would have stayed for as long as it took to find him.

The point is further emphasized when Andy takes the time to ask if they have him before they get in the car, and doesn’t move to get in herself until she lays eyes on him. Booker passes Pedro to Nile once they’re in the car, and as she pets down his back just as Joe had done earlier in the evening, she gets the distinct feeling he needs Joe and Nicky back just as much as the rest of them do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Both me and my brother are autistic, but are opposite in almost every way. He doesn't really get social rules and cues, but has no sensory problems to speak of. I'm sensitive to noise and touch, but can fake my way through social situations about 9 times out of 10. I stim but he doesn't. While Joe's traits are taken almost entirely from myself, he hugs just like my brother, whereas I am the human embodiment of that plant that physically pulls its leaves away when you touch it. 
> 
> Comment and kudo plz and thank
> 
> (Link because oldguardhc asked: https://oldguardhc.tumblr.com/post/628383778302214144/old-guard-hc-20)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: This chapter is where the ableism tag applies. This is the only time that it will apply to this work, at least this severely, since I don't like it and don't want to write it.
> 
> Just as an aside this chapter doesn't actually feature Pedro, and covers Joe and Nicky's history up to 0 AP (After Pedro). It is also exceptionally long, comparatively speaking; I don't know how I did it and wouldn't expect it again.

There wasn’t a word for what Joe was, not at first and not for a long time. In the early years of their relationship, after they’d left the battlefield for good, reluctant allies rather than bitter rivals, all Nicolò could think to call him was _different_. From his dark skin, his wild and even darker curls, to his bright and colorful wardrobe and even his religious practices, he was worlds away from the cold, drab, and utterly oppressive monastery he’d grown up in back home. He was like stepping into the summer sun out of the dead of winter, and with him Nicolò realized that different from home could only be a good thing.

And then, somewhere along the line, _different_ expanded to mean not just opposite what Nicolò knew, but _different_ as in _strange_. It had been hard to see at first, but as the two of them gradually grew used to each other, all of Yusuf’s tics and quirks began to bubble to the surface where they were impossible to not notice. And though Nicky would be ashamed to admit it, Nicolò didn’t understand him, didn’t even try to, bristling and chafing every time Nicolò had to accommodate him in a way that pulled him out of his extremely narrow comfort zone. Not that there had been words for any of that either; all Nicolò knew was that Yusuf seemed to live a few degrees off from him and the rest of the world, and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to try and pull himself back in line.

Nicolò found himself questioning how a man such as Yusuf could have received a gift such as theirs every time Yusuf rocked as he sat, every time his hands couldn’t keep still, every time they spoke and Yusuf would not look him in the face. When he would become so engrossed in a book or a drawing and become incapable of setting it down when Nicolò needed him to, rising sometimes five, ten, or even thirty minutes later after Nicolò first asked, how he sometimes answered questions the same way. Or, if it was a curse, what Nicolò had done to deserve such a punishment.

Nicolò couldn’t even take him into markets because that was too much of a gamble, as he reacted to the noise and crush of people as if they physically hurt him, and it was hard to get a read on him because what set him off one day seemed to not affect him the next. Even when Yusuf was out and about, it seemed that whispers and stares followed him everywhere: _crazed, demented, touched in the head_ , and it was easier to just leave him behind.

Why couldn’t Yusuf just be _normal_?

It wasn’t until the night that Nicolò made Yusuf cry, just a scant year into their travels together in a pair of rented rooms out in the Balkans, when he’d yelled and screamed as much at Yusuf in an atrocious act of careless and unthinkable cruelty that he realized that he’d been once again blinded by bigotry of the lowest, and most horrendous order. The whole day had been cursed from one end to the other, with Yusuf even more sensitive than was usual and Nicolò’s temper frayed like old rope, irritated by everything the other man did. He’d taken a walk just to try and clear his head, and when he’d returned Yusuf had flinched back from the sound of the door slamming, which was all it had taken for the tenuous hold on Nicolò’s temper to snap.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Yusuf had shouted back at him in an exceptionally rare outburst of anger, “Why must I always sacrifice my comfort for the sake of others’? Why can no one ever think about _me_? Why am I not allowed to be comfortable?” Nicolò doesn’t get the opportunity to even think about an answer before Yusuf bolts from the room, leaving him alone with a sudden wash of shame and guilt.

Yusuf doesn’t come out of the back room where he’d holed up for hours, which is more than enough time for Nicolò to ruminate on the error of his ways as he listens to Joe cry and make a fuss, completely unable to do even a single thing about it. The sounds Yusuf makes are heartbreaking, crying and sobbing as if his world were ending around him, interrupted occasionally by the clatter of objects being upset, and though Nicolò wants nothing more that to go and comfort him, he knows he cannot. Yusuf’s current state is entirely Nicolò’s fault, and he can’t imagine that his presence would be welcome, so he stays in the main room as if holding vigil. Nicolò can do nothing else, so he will see Yusuf’s agony through to the end, however long it takes.

By the time Yusuf goes quiet, night had long fallen over the city and Nicolò is just about ready to tear his hair out. Nicolò’s ears ring with the sudden lack of noise coming from the other man, and though he cautiously stands from where he had been sitting, he doesn’t immediately make for the door concealing Yusuf. Instead, he moves towards the cooking pot and begins throwing together a simple dish of mushrooms and rice, something simple and filling that would help keep Yusuf from crashing a second time. He hesitates when he’s finished, setting the table to give himself more time, but eventually takes a fortifying breath and faces the simple wooden door at the back of the room.

“Yusuf?” Nicolò calls hesitantly, “Are you alright in there?” He creeps closer when he doesn’t get an answer, and gently raps on the frame to see if that will prompt a response. When one isn’t forthcoming, he pushes forward and eases the door open, guilt once again stabbing him in the chest once his eyes adjust to the darkness. The room is a mess, all of the things they had set on top of the dresser now littering the floor, and the bed has been pushed asunder. He doesn’t see Yusuf for a moment, briefly worrying that he had managed to get past him despite logically knowing that to be impossible, but then Nicolò finds him on the other side of the bed, pulled into a tight little ball of misery with his arms wrapped around his knees. He can’t see his face, but he can see the way Yusuf rocks back and forth, more frantic and desperate than Nicolò has ever seen, as if the familiar motion no longer brings any comfort.

He carefully crosses the room and crouches down in front of Yusuf, listening as he sniffles and snubs out the aftershocks of what will eventually be termed a meltdown, but Nicolò can only think to call a fit. There is a delicate tension in the air, fragile enough to be broken by one wrong move, and Nicolò prays he is making the right decision as he reaches out and grasps Yusuf just above his left elbow. Yusuf flinches back, a pitiful whine tearing out if his throat, but he doesn’t try to pull out of Nicolò’s grip or get away from him, which he takes as a good sign.

“Yusuf, do you think you’re ready to come out?” he asks, and tamps down the knee-jerk surge of irritation when Yusuf doesn’t look up or respond. Several long minutes pass before Yusuf shakes his head, pulling his arms tighter around himself, and Nicolò cannot fault him that. He turns Yusuf loose and stands, looking his companion over one last time. “That’s alright; when you _are_ ready, I made something for you to eat. I’ll keep it warm over the fire for you, okay?” Yusuf doesn’t respond a second time and Nicolò retreats, shutting the door behind himself and stirring the food so that it doesn’t stick and burn.

His stomach rumbles as he plates himself a portion and sits down to eat it, watching the branches of the pear tree outside dance in the wind, and he’s about halfway through when he hears the floor creak. He looks up to see Yusuf standing in the open doorway, resolutely looking away and fiddling with the edge of his tunic as if he weren’t sure if he was allowed to come any further. Nicolò really cannot fault him for his hesitance, likely a combination of embarrassment and unsure of another interaction with Nicolò following the disaster of a few hours ago. The sudden uncertainty in their relationship hurts, though Nicolò knows that he really only has himself to blame, and he vows to do whatever it takes to rebuild into something better and stronger than what they had before.

As they move away from that night, both in physical distance and time, Nicolò makes it a point to fight the knee-jerk resistance whenever Yusuf takes longer than would be considered normal to answer questions and respond in conversations, or refuses to come with him to markets, and instead allows him to do what he needs to be comfortable, and in doing so begins to see Yusuf in a whole new light. How he approaches everything with a passion so vibrant that it would make the greatest artists green with envy, how even in the face of adversity he is so beautifully and unrepentendly _Yusuf_ in everything he does. How he can look at a piece of art and talk for hours about how the artist achieved this effect or that, or what certain symbols mean, or even why the peel of an orange was purposefully painted to be longer than would fit around it.

As the months and miles pass them by, Nicolò and Yusuf continue to grow closer and closer, sharing drinks and meals and long nights around the fire, until one night Nicolò finds that they’ve been sharing sleeping space for nearly a year and physically intimate for longer than that. Nicolò isn’t sure when it started, but he and Yusuf can hardly go an hour without some form of physical contact, be it kisses in the early mornings or little touches throughout the day, but what he does know is that once he was able to see Yusuf for the beautiful soul that he is, the love comes easy.

* * *

When they finally find Andromache and Quýnh after years and years of dreaming of them, it is like looking back through a window at the Nicolò of two hundred years ago. The whole thing actually happens the other way round, as Nicolò and Yusuf have settled down in Malta for the time being just to breathe and enjoy each other in the salty sea air.

Nicolò is down in the market perusing the shops of meat, vegetables, and other offerings of clothes and weapons, and has just paused to inspect an open-air stall of spices when the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stands up. Nicolò straightens as casually as he can, purchasing the saffron he knows Yusuf has been wanting for a while like nothing were wrong, and cautiously scans the crowded street as if he were just deciding where to go next. And there, between the man selling honey and the tailor’s shop, are the two women who have haunted their dreams for nearly three centuries, staring Nicolò down like a wolf does deer. They radiate power, and even if Nicolò hadn’t known who they were he would be able to tell that these are dangerous women, not to be trifled with, and he has no doubt that they are more than capable of using the weapons at their backs.

Nicolò makes eye contact with each of them, but makes no motions towards them, instead choosing to continue on with his errands. The feeling of being watched follows him from the spice monger to the butcher where he picks up the chicken he’d had prepped while he shopped, and then on to the paper merchant to pick up a sheaf for Yusuf, but Nicolò refrains from actually acknowledging them until they’re all tucked away in his and Yusuf’s seaside quarters.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Nicolò says, “I hope you had safe travel?” He speaks in rusty, academic Greek, unsure of what (if any) languages they would have in common. Nicolò offers them seats at their tiny table and starts a fire to make tea, unsure of the etiquette required of an immortal meeting other (presumable) immortals for the first time after you’ve been dreaming of each other for just over two hundred and fifty years.

“We did,” the taller of the two replied, “I’m Andromache of Scythia, and this is Quýnh. We’ve traveled a long way to meet you”

“I would imagine; we’ve seen all the places you’ve been in two hundred years.” Nicky says. “Your time up north was particularly interesting.” Andromache blushes at that, as one should when told by another person that they’ve seen all the wild and wanton sex you’d had with your wife while trapped by a snowy Viking winter after eradicating a slaving ring.

“So where’s your companion?” Quýnh asks, breaking the silence as she openly looks around the room, “I’ve always wanted to see a real changeling.” That makes Nicolò pause, unconsciously glancing out the front window to the balcony where they all can see Yusuf sat with his charcoals drawing the boats coming and going from Valetta’s grand harbour. From the angle he’s sitting at, Nicolò can see the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as his charcoal moves across the paper, but he can also see how he and his pencil move and still in turns. There’s a sudden pit in Nicolò’s stomach as Yusuf stops drawing for a moment to look over his work and starts rocking as he does so, in full view of the two women, only stopping once his charcoal gets going again to keep it steady.

“ _Mi scusi_ , but a what?” Nicolò goes still where he stands in what serves as their kitchen, knife stalled as he peeled stone fruit.

“A changeling,” Andromache repeats, “is some superstitious nonsense from the Western Isles about children being replaced by fairies in the night. They’re not anything but ghost stories, though your friend does certainly fit the description so who knows.”

“His name is Yusuf.” Nicolò says. He doesn’t like how flippant the two women are when talking about his everything, how casually they refer to him as something other and strange, and it reminds him too much of himself not that long ago. “And he is not a fairy, or anything different from you or I.”

“Maybe not, but you have to admit he is more than a little odd.” Quýnh said, turning to watch Yusuf like he were an animal in a cage. “We’ve seen him in our dreams, and I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with him this long.”

“That is enough.” Nicolò says, his voice firm and tone brooking no argument, “What is it that you want from us?”

“To join us,” Andromache says, almost as if she can sense that if Quýnh keeps talking she’s going to get them thrown out, “to do some good in this world. We are strong separately but stronger together, and with you we would be unstoppable.” Nicolò goes silent for a moment as he digests Andromache’s words, thinking about what this will mean for Yusuf. He doesn’t deal with change very well, and Nicolò knows that the uncertainty of life on the move will be hard on him until he can find some way to center himself. Yusuf will need time to think about and process what Andromache is asking of them, and Nicolò doesn’t shy away from saying so.

“If it were up to me we would join you immediately, but Yusuf will have to think about it before he can make a decision. Why don’t you stay for supper so you can meet him properly? I’m sure he would love to get to know you.” Nicolò says, setting the plate of fruit and nuts down on the table between them, and a pit settles in his stomach as the two women share a pointed look, one that speaks volumes without ever using words.

“Actually we only want you to join us...” Andromache begins, and Nicolò starts as though he’s been slapped, “I’m sure Yusuf is a perfectly nice person, but the kind of life we lead leaves no room for weakness, and we don’t think he’s capable of handling that.”

“You would have me abandon Yusuf, just like that?” Nicolò’s voice is deadly calm, pitched low despite the urge to shout to avoid disturbing Yusuf, “You think I would so soon leave my closest companion?”

“I am honestly surprised you haven’t left him long before now. He behaves like a child and shouldn’t be allowed out in society. You know that some of the places we’ve been would see him stoned to death? Or beaten? And you’d be next when they found out how often you use him to get off.” Quýnh said.

“He received the gift the same as us! That alone makes him a worthy man! Did you forget he traveled hundreds of miles to defend Jerusalem and took down dozens of men, including myself?” Nicolò couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t understand how these two could be so blinded by prejudice that they couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“You don’t think whatever hands out this gift isn’t capable of making a mistake?” Andromache says softly, and Nicolò knows that this far no further.

“Get out. I will not tolerate such slander against Yusuf, not in our own home where he is supposed to be safe. Go now, before he knows you were ever even here.” Andromache and Quýnh appear shocked at Nicolò’s quiet command, wearing similarly confused expressions, and there is a tense moment of stand-off as no one moves, but the two women slowly stand as they come to realize that Nicolò is serious.

“You know he will continue to dream of us so long as he doesn’t meet us?” Andromache murmurs as she and Quýnh move away from the table.

“That may be for the best; you can use them to find us when perhaps you grow a little more accepting. I’m not saying to never come back; I want the chance to do good with you, and I know Yusuf would too, but I cannot allow us to join you while you speak with such vitriol and bigotry. The world is unkind enough to him as it is, and he doesn’t need you to add to it.” Nicolò motions for the door, and Andromache holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding once, as if accepting his wishes.

Nicolò watches them as they leave without another word, and blows out a long breath once he is sure they’re gone. He can’t lie and say that it wasn’t disheartening to hear Andromache and Quýnh repeat the same biased sentiments that he himself had once been guilty of thinking, but he knows he has to hold out hope that they will realize the error of their ways. Nicolò is going to be gracious and allow them a second chance into their lives, just as Yusuf for him did all those moons ago.

He picks up the plate of fruit from where it sits untouched and makes his way out to Yusuf on the balcony once he unearths a fork from their kitchen, pausing to crane his head and inspect the pile of sketches on the table beside him. There are small schooners and large frigates, and a figurehead that must have caught Yusuf’s eye because there is a whole page of a winged figure holding a lantern aloft.

“Yusuf, _hayati_ , I brought you a snack,” Nicolò murmurs and as expected, Yusuf doesn’t react to Nicolò’s presence immediately and keeps drawing, but Nicolò knows that he will acknowledge him once he finds a place to pause, and so just takes a moment to enjoy the warm sea breeze and the salt in the air. Normally Nicolò would never presume to ever speak for Yusuf or keep things from him on the assumption that he wouldn’t understand, because he knows that Yusuf is smart as a whip and his unique view on the world allows him to see things hidden from most other people. He is not stupid or naïve, nor is he a child; he is a grown man who didn’t need to be coddled or insulated from the world. Yusuf had even been the one to initiate their physical relationship, and despite some initial reservations and fears over whether or not he was taking advantage, Nicolò knows that what the two of them have is completely consensual and reciprocal, that they are equals in every way.

Though, as Yusuf looks up from his drawing and takes a slice of apricot, grinning at Nicolò with his cheeks puffed out and juice running down his chin, Nicolò thinks he can justify it just this once

* * *

It was now the 21st century and the word for Joe is autistic, and it fits him like no other. Despite what some may want him to think, it isn’t a bad word or something to be said from a place of shame, but a beautiful, nuanced thing that colored Yusuf’s world and all that was in it. Nicolò’s husband, his Yusuf, his all and his more is autistic and he loves him because of it, wouldn’t change a single thing about him even if he could.

The four of them are somewhere in Europe, on break between one injustice and the next, and Nicky is in a Lidl with Joe securing food for the week, when he decides to take a stroll down the center aisle and see what sort of odds and ends they have to offer. He passes by bins of baby clothes and sewing kits, passing the former and grabbing a few of the latter, but pauses when he reaches a bin of dishwashing supplies. There, amongst the scrub brushes and scouring pads, is what is tagged a cast iron cleaner, but is really nothing more than a six inch square of chain mail. The rings jingle as Nicky picks it up and suddenly he is more than nine hundred years in the past, returning to camp after bathing in a river as the two of them sought to put as much distance as possible between them and that awful night in the Balkans. Yusuf had his back to him, rocking as always but this time with Nicolò’s mail shirt in his lap and a sleeve by his ear as he bunched the links together to hear them jingle, his first primitive version of a stim toy.

That mail shirt had traveled with them for decades, became more Yusuf’s than Nicolò’s, it and its successors long since rusted away into nothing, but Nicky would never forget how much joy it had brought Yusuf, and how quietly upset he’d been when chain mail had finally faded into obscurity and they could no longer replace it. Nicky tosses it into his cart, more than willing to pay the handful of euros it cost, and makes his way to where Joe is hanging around the bakery and produce section looking at all the pumpkins for fall. When he turns to Nicky he has one in his hands that is a pale green color and covered in bumps and lumps, and Nicky cannot help but smile at the way his left hand pets it like an animal, his fingers mapping its ridges and grooves.

“Did you find one you like?” Nicky asks in quiet Ligurian, allowing Joe a moment to process the question.

“Yes, it reminds me of Booker, and I think it would look good on the front step.” Joe says, and Nicky chuckles at the comparison. The pumpkin does seem to have a sour disposition, which Nicky figures is fair given its rough appearance, and he can only imagine Booker’s face when Joe shows him his gourdy twin. Nicky holds the cart still so Joe can deposit his pumpkin and the both of them make for the frozen aisle where Joe picks out ice cream for the four of them and Nicky stocks up on ravioli to go with the sauce he’s going to make tomorrow night.

Nicky waits until they’ve made it through the checkout line and are waiting at the station for a train back the house, Joe’s pumpkin weighing heavily in Nicky's backpack, before he digs the scrubber out of the rest of the groceries. Joe is standing beside him, his hands up at chest level to let him fidget with one of his rings, and Nicky can see the way he’s monitoring the flow of people from the street so he’ll know if he needs the headphones from his own backpack.

“Joe, _hayati_ , I got you something at the store. I think you’ll like it.” Nicky says, and presses the chain mail square into Joe’s hands. It takes Joe a minute to realize what Nicky’s given him, and Nicky can see the gears turning in Joe’s head as he works the links inbetween his fingers, and it clicks once he lifts it to his ear and hears the jingle they make. His face lights up with sheer child-like happiness, and his eyes actually meet Nicky’s for a brief, joyous second before they return to where he’s working the square of mail with the fervor of a lost man finding water in the desert.

And Nicky’s world is all the brighter for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all this chapter fought me every step of the way. There's actually about 1,000 words of cut words in the scrap file, which is a lot for me since I'm pretty good at recycling material.
> 
> Joe's meltdown is loosely based on my own, though I've never thrown anything. I also have a cast iron cleaner and can't recommend them enough as stim toys. 5/5 - Delightfully jingly.
> 
> Comment and kudo plz and thank :)


End file.
